


Suffering Too Terrible to name (Re-upload: PLEASE READ THE NOTES)

by MamaRamen



Series: To Be Alive Right Now [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It's actually a bit graphic, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rape, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 04:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18336497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MamaRamen/pseuds/MamaRamen
Summary: This is the Tragic tale of Alex's past trauma at the hands of a former foster father, George King. (Again, to reiterate: READ THE NOTES PLEASEEEEEE)





	Suffering Too Terrible to name (Re-upload: PLEASE READ THE NOTES)

**Author's Note:**

> So some crazy shit happened and basically I had to re-upload this (it's a whole long story I don't feel like explaining) So Basically, I'm just re-uploading. I know it's a little confusing, but this way I can actually see your comments and what not. This has been edited just slightly, just so you guys know. I wrote this at like 4 in the morning (curse you insomnia!!) so it needed some editing.

It was late; Very late.

The pitch black of the night enveloped the world outside the small car Alex found himself and his one bag of belongings squished into the back seat of. It was too dark to see anything outside the sidewalk occasionally illuminated by each yellow hued street lamp lining the street. For all Alex knew, he could be in Arizona and not even know it based on the time they had spent driving. It certainly didn’t help that he didn’t exactly know where he was in the first place. His foster home had kicked him to the curb after waking up to Alex’s nightmare induced screaming for the third night in a row. They gave no shits the trauma from the hurricane was locked into his brain. So here he was, cold, tired, miserable, and headed off to an emergency placement, of which he had not a single shred of information on.

He had almost laughed in his foster parents faces when they had thrown his own words back at him in their reasoning for kicking him out. He had told them the same thing he told everyone from the start.

 _You won’t be able to handle my problems._  He said in all seriousness the day he arrived at their door step.

The sheer irony when they told the caseworker the exact same thing, as Alex was eavesdropping from around the corner, was enough to make Alex laugh. He laughed because it hurt; He laughed because it made him angry; He laughed because no amount of ‘I told you so’ would remedy the feeling of abandonment filling his chest as he rode in that backseat to yet another new location. How many more would have to endure? The question seemed pointless to try and answer.

As they pulled up in the driveway of a very average looking house, every ounce of hope for this one to be better was gone. Alex knew it wouldn’t be, and that’s all that mattered. This was his fifth home now, and whatever evils lurked beyond the front door would just have to work for him.

Alex barely noticed when his case worker had practically manhandled Alex out of the car and up to said door. He barely noticed as his social worker introduced him to his new foster father, and was quick to leave. Of course, he didn’t blame the social worker for being upset. It was the middle of the night, after all.

Alex let himself be absentmindedly lead to a room at the back of the house. What woke Alex from his stupor, was the fact that Alex had his own bed. His own room, and from the looks of it, not one other kid to battle the house for.

It was only then that he looked his foster father in the face to take in his features. The man had curly salt and pepper hair, a clean shaved face, and long tresses that was pulled tight into a ponytail. It wasn’t very hard for Alex to pick away at the outer layers of the man’s uncomfortably questioning gaze. It wasn’t hard to see the mental look-over mapping out Alex’s figure. A shiver ran down Alex’s spine, and he collectively ignored it. If this was to be the man Alex was forced to stay with, he’d make it work; It did not matter how hard it got.

“I know you are tired, and I will let you get to sleep. First, I just want to go over house rules and expectations.” The elderly man said. Okay, he wasn’t super old, but he was definitely at _least_ in his late forties, maybe early fifties. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“ Rule one, we eat together or not at all. Rule two, unless explicitly told otherwise, if you are home, you are here. I will not have a mess made through the rest of my house because of some petulant teenager’s messy ways.” The man continued without even giving Alex so much as a chance to even open his mouth to protest. “You will do as I say the first time I tell it to you.” Alex definitely saw that one coming. “One more thing, you will refer to me as _Sir_ unless I say otherwise.”

“Yes, _sir._ ” Alex spat in a half mumble.

“I will wake you for breakfast; Be ready.” The man, George, stated finally before turning and closing the door behind him.

Alex lowered his bag from his shoulder to the ground with a small huff. He guessed it wasn’t a bad start. At least he had a room to himself, even if he was confined to it. Alex pulled the bag open and peeled out a notebook and pen. It was useless for him to try and sleep tonight, that much Alex knew. Writing was his pass-time when the nightmares came.

By the time breakfast had rolled around, it came at no surprise when George disapproved of his late night writing. He gave Alex a warning that if he caught him awake during resting hours, he would provide ‘suitable punishment’, whatever that entailed. It didn’t sound good either way, so Alex made it a point to be extra cautious from that point forward. He would wait two hours to start writing, and stop two hours before breakfast. The next time Alex had been caught up late writing, had been about a week into his stay. He fell into a routine and got sloppy; ended up missing his cut off time and kept writing all the way up until breakfast. The punishment he had anticipated to come was... odd. He was forced to forgo breakfast, and locked up in his room with no notebook, or pen. When he was finally let out, George locked him in again the next day after finding out Alex had pissed himself.

“From now on, when you have to use the bathroom, you have to ask.” He was told. The next time Alex had crossed the wrath of Mr. King, it was about a month later. He’d been bad and hadn’t obeyed the ‘Eat together, or not at all’ rule, and snuck out of his room to grab a granola bar from the kitchen. He had gone without dinner the night before, over having to be told twice to clean the dishes after breakfast. Except George had anticipated the sneaky attempt. He caught Alex in the act.

 **“I bring you into my home and you steal from me?!”** George roared in Alex’s face, gripping tight around the boy’s forearms. Alex winced at the fingers digging into his skin. **“I shelter you, teach you right from wrong, give you everything, and this is how I’m repaid?!”** He tightened his grip and lifted Alex in the air, carrying him through the house, and threw him down on the floor of the master bedroom. Alex had never been in George’s room, so it was terrifying to know his first beating would be in an unfamiliar surrounding. The room was forever tainted with the memory of bruised ribs and cries from that day forward. Every time he was pulled in that room, it was for being bad, for misbehaving.

The first time Alex had been pulled in there on a positive note, was an honest to god shock for the boy. He had tried especially hard to be good that week; When other kids at school had picked on him, stolen his only extra shirt, he just waited for it to end, and walked to the nurse for a spare shirt.

The nurse asked what happened, to which he gave no reply.

So when George told Alex to meet him in the master bedroom, Alex was practically trembling with fear. Did he know Alex had lost his belonging? Had Alex done something against the rules? What if this was the time the beating went too far?

Many thoughts like those ran through the head of Alexander Hamilton as he stood and waited for his foster father to finish up his paperwork. When the moment finally came to face his punishment, he was pleasantly surprised when the man not only let Alex go to bed with a full belly, and without a single scratch, but had actually praised him for behaving so well! That night, Alex had felt a sense of pride wash over his self as he laid in bed, hoping to god he could keep it up. If he kept George happy, maybe he could make it here after all.

The feeling of pride was replaced with confusion the moment George had entered the teen’s room in the middle of the night, smelling strongly of booze. He sat on the edge of Alex’s bed, words slurring slightly for Alex to sit up and chat with him. He raved on about how proud he was that Alex had been so good; How if he kept it up, he would get a reward.

The next week breezed by, and Alex was able to endure anything school kids sent his way. He was finally getting a handle on all the rules, and how to continue writing when he couldn’t sleep. The next time George stumbled into Alex’s room in the wee hours of the morning, once again drunk, and slurring as he praised Alex, it was welcomed. What Alex didn’t expect this time, was how he could clearly see the outline of his foster father’s hardened member through his sweatpants. It made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t pay it any attention.

“Call me George.” The man said, effectively distracting Alex from the embarrassing sight.

“Yes, sir.” Alex replied meekly.

“No, George! Not sir.” He corrected.

“Yes... George.” Alex wasn’t sure why it felt so good to call his foster father anything but _Sir_. It almost felt like a personal trophy, something he’d proven himself worthy of.

The following week Alex had ignored the lingering hand on his shoulder, and the way George’s gaze would follow him each time they pass by one another. He instead chose to focus on the fact that he had been given free reign of the bathroom, and was no longer called into the master bedroom.

The third time George visited Alex, was the time Alex would rather forget. He crawled onto the bed and praised Alex just like other times, but something in his eyes was different.

“You’ve been so good, and I promised you a reward.” He said placing a hand on the boy’s thigh, sending a chill up his spine. “I’m going to show you something I only do for people I really like, okay? I promise, you’ll like it.” George leaned in and kissed Alex on the lips, guiding his hand toward his once again hardened crotch.

Alex wasn’t sure how to react, one part of him knew that this was wrong, that this wasn’t something a foster father should do, the other part of him figured, if this is what George considered a reward, he shouldn’t fight it. So he didn’t. He gave in to the gentle touches and sloppy drunk kisses, and before he knew it, George was straddled over one of his legs.

“See? I told you. I knew you would enjoy it. It’s because you’re such a good boy, _Alexander._ **You deserve this.** ” George purred the name out, running a hand over Alex’s swollen and sensitive area. He hadn’t even realized that he’d become hard until George brought it up. He reached down to Alex’s pants, unfastened the zipper, and slid the bottoms down to the teen’s mid-thigh.

“Take them all the way off.” He instructed, and Alex obeyed.

The pants came off with haste in the movement, and soon Alex was flipped onto his stomach. A multitude of emotions twisted in his stomach, but Alex’s mind was blank. As he laid, fast down in his pillow, a very audible _click_  of a bottle opening caused him to flinch.

The feeling of a slick, wet, and warm presence entering him earned an arch of the back, and a pained moan from Alex. Words of encouragement was whispered into Alex’s ear, and a chill shot straight down his spine once again. He worked Alex’s opening for a bit, but it didn’t do much good. When the thick full-sized member entered his backside, he screamed. George used the hand not holding the boy's hips steady to press Alex’s face into the pillow. “Just give it a moment.” He instructed. “It’ll feel good.” He promised. Alex bit down on his cheek as the burning began to slowly fade, and after long, George was in a full force thrust. He rammed his hips into Alex’s own, until Alex himself was on the brink of an orgasm. With one particular thrust, forcing the fully matured phallus’s edge right into Alex’s prostate, causing him to ejaculate with a loud pillow-muffled moan.

However, George didn’t stop or even slow down. His movements only increased in speed and became more aggressive, causing Alex’s eye to roll back at the over-sensitivity. A final powerful thrust rammed into Alex’s prostrate again, and ended with a warm feeling engulfing his insides. Alex was trembling as he felt the member inside pulse and twitch with the release. George panted, body resting close against the boy beneath him.

Alex’s body tremble. When the man finally pulled out, the only thing Alex could actively pay attention to was the sound of heavy breathing from both himself, as well as his foster father, and the feeling of something dripping out of him.

“You did so good. Don’t forget to clean up your mess.” George said finally before leaving Alex alone.

When the door clicked shut, Alex took a few minutes to come back down. When he did, choked sobs hushed only by his pillow made their way out against his will.

The next day, George was back to normal, acting as if nothing had happened. When Alex made the unfortunate mistake of misbehaving, George no longer hit him. It began slowly with one particular friend of his foster father’s. He never did learn the name of said friend, not that it really mattered.

When he was good, it was just George. When he was bad, it was others, and they were significantly less gentle than George. Alex had the dumb idea to threaten to spill his secret at some point, only to be punished by being filmed while tied up and taken by a _friend_  as George call them. Alex knew better. He wasn’t naive. His mother had done the same to keep them afloat back on the island. She sold her body to customers, not _friends_.

Each time something happened, George would whisper the same words until Alex wholeheartedly believed him.

**“You deserve this.”**

This went on for seven months, two weeks, and three days. Some might consider keeping count unhealthy, but Alex did so anyway. The only reason it hadn’t continued, was because Alex had been reckless. He’d worn the same clothes he’d gone to bed in, and stupidly went to school in them. A teacher had noticed the rope burns on his wrists, and bruises around his neck first, then upon further inspection, the blood staining the back of his pants, right where it shouldn’t have been. When she confronted Alex about it, he’d gone white as a sheet, frozen in place, unable to think of any possible excuse he could use to cover it up. He wished so badly to not clam up, and tell that nosy teacher to mind her business, because it was fine. He was fine. Except he wasn’t. He jumped to his feet the moment he heard someone say his name. Any time a hand rested on his shoulder, or a loud but sudden sound came, he practically jumped out of his skin.

The teacher was persistent in bringing up these facts, and she left no room for an excuse. She questioned Alex about his home life, and having received no answer, she assumed the worst based on the sheer terror in the boy’s eyes.

CPS was called, Alex was removed from the home, placed in a temporary group home, and a whole investigation was thrown together. Alex endured visits with a sexual abuse specialist. They probed, poked, swabbed, and photographed until there was nothing left of him that wasn’t explored. He felt exposed, vulnerable, used, and worst of all, dirty. The trial lasted for an entire two months, and eventually it was concluded that there was not enough evidence. Alex was relocated from Virginia, all the way to New York. The original plan was to send him back to George, but the man turned the other cheek, claiming that Alex was a trouble maker from the start, and nothing but a lying whore. He claimed Alex slept around and was pinning dishonest blame to squeeze money out of him.

For the next two years, every loud sound, every sudden voice, every unexpected touch, would send Alex jumping, his heart in his chest. Eventually, he realized that there was nothing but suffering for him in the world. Home after home, he was beat, starved, or sent away because of his horrid gut-wrenching nightmares that would awaken him in a cold sweat, screaming for someone, anyone, to make it go away.

But help never came.


End file.
